


Super Smash Bros., Emphasis on the Smash

by lizdarcy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: I Don't Even Know, Kid Fic, M/M, Super Mario Bros - Freeform, gaming fic, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:40:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizdarcy/pseuds/lizdarcy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompted inadvertently by Tifferini and "Derek the rage-quit king"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Super Smash Bros., Emphasis on the Smash

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hrsnvdi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrsnvdi/gifts).



> For Tifferini. I hope you enjoy this.

“Laura,” a tiny voice whined. 

“Don’t be such a baby about it, Der. I won fair and square!”

“But it wasn’t! You’re bigger and your fingers are longer and you pushed me off the race track on lap three! That- that w-wasn’t n-n-nice!” 

The six-year-old boy threw down the blocky controller to their N64 and whimpered as the pixelated cars raced around the track in the victory lap and his baby Mario sat in the car and cried. 

“Aw, come on, Der! It’s just a game! Don’t cry! Come on, please? Mom’s going to come in and get mad. We can go again, I’ll let you win!”

“I don’t want you to let me win!” Derek wailed, punctuating his words with a sharp stomp of his foot. His bright green eyes welled and his bottom lip quivered, but he didn’t cry. He wasn’t a baby, even if Laura called him one. 

“Then I’m going to beat you, Derek, that’s how it works!” She yelled in frustration, and Derek’s eyes flashed blue. 

“You always take Yoshi, even though _I_ want to be Yoshi, and you never let me! And you play the hardest tracks—“

“Will you just grow up? I let you have Yoshi last time, because I’m the best big sister in the world and—“

“—even though you know I don’t like the farm one, because it’s too hard for me—“

“—I let you have him yesterday, but no, you want him again—“

“What on earth are you two screeching about!?”

Both kids immediately fell silent, when their mother entered the room, then after a beat began shouting all over again. 

“Hey! Enough! No more N64 for you guys today! Go on outside. Grandpa’s going for a run. Go on! No complaining, or I’ll take it away for tomorrow, too.”

After grumbling and mumbling the children went outside, only after casting doleful glances back at the gaming system. Natasha eyed it curiously. She still couldn’t understand the draw of a box over the woods, but she had always thought her kids strange. After all, if their Uncle Peter was anything to go by, they’d only get worse with age.

~~~  
“Fucking eat my dirt, Kirby! Shit, Scott, I didn’t mean literally.”

“Sorry, bro, but your wish is my command. Besides I always kickass with Kirby.”

“Ha. You’re so funny, I can barely control my laughter. I dominate with Link. He’s my homie.”

“I’m your homie—Fuck!”

“Language, Scott McCall!” Both boys grinned.

“Sorry!” They shouted in unison. Stiles had a Chemistry exam tomorrow and Scott had two papers due by Friday, but when wasn’t there time for a little good old-fashioned Super Smash Bros? 

Except, fuck, now. 

“Shit, man, I was supposed to be home an hour ago. I gotta head ou—ooowwwaaaaht the hell are you doing standing in that corner?” Of course Derek is standing in the corner. When isn’t Derek standing in the only shadowy corner of _every single place ever._ “Lurkety lurker. Scott, Derek king of the creepy lurks is standing in the corner.”

“You know, you mentioned that, Stiles.” Scott just rolls his eyes and pauses the game. Apparently, he’s now unperturbed by this sort of thing. You know, because he and Derek are all werebuddies from the werebosom now. 

“Are you going to ask him why?” For a second he wonders when that became a question he had to ask, but then brushes it off because, werewolves. 

“Nah,” Scott says. Alright. That’s totally fine. Whatever. “Dude, you wanna play?” Also fine—Wait no, that’s totally not fine.

“Not fine! That’s is not fine!” Stiles blusters. Derek smirks, because again, werewolf.

“No. I don’t play video games.” Stiles jaw drops. Like, actually drops. That is totally not fine. 

“You don’t—you don’t play… what the hell, man? I mean, I get the whole burnt-down-house-equals-no-electricity thing,” extra Stiles-points for sensitivity, “but it’s not like you don’t sneak into enough people’s houses to commandeer a couple quality COD hours here and there.”

Derek huffs and ignores him, muttering something sub-sonic to Scott and then jumps out the window. 

Fucking werewolves, man. 

~~~

“You hold the wii controller like this, and press A to go—“

“Stiles. I said I don’t play, not that I can’t play.”

“Well, you’re playing now, aren’t you?” 

Stiles feels a massive sense of pride at getting Derek to play Mario Kart. It’s like he just fed a bunch of orphans, or saved a litter of puppies. He’s giving Derek the ultimate gift of Japanese technological innovation. No matter what else they come up with, they’ll never top the glories of Super Mario. 

“Where’s the joystick?”

“The joyst… Oh man, Derek. You’re talking like… a bazillion years ago. Welcome to the twenty-first century, my friend. I totally need to show you Wii Fitness. Probably the only athletic competition I would kick you ass in and I would do it proudly.”

“You can’t kick my ass in anything, Stiles,” Derek says confidently, biting his tongue as the race starts. Maybe that distracts Stiles a little bit, and maybe he falls off a cliff, but no sweat, he’s got a few tricks up his sleeve. 

~~~

“I didn’t just kick your ass, Derek, I fucking _annihilated_ you. Three times in a row. Three times! Wanna count with me? One… Two… Three times your sorry ass felt the bottom of my size 11 Nike’s. That’s right.”

“Nobody like’s a sore winner, Stiles.” Derek’s words were calm but his eyebrow twitched. 

“Uno! Dos! Tres, mis amigos!”

Derek’s fists clenched around the flimsy controller. 

“Three strikes, and I’m sorry batter, but you’re—“

The controller snapped in half. Whoops. 

“Dude.”

~~~

“Now, do we throw things when we get angry?” Natasha asked her pouting six-year old, in her patented mom-voice. Derek grumbled, but said nothing, staring at his feet. She just knew his teenage years were going to be god-awful. The kid could sulk up a storm.

“Derek?”

“No.”

“And do we yell at our sisters when we don’t get our way?”

“But she pushed me off the race track on lap three!”

“Do we yell at our sisters?” Sometimes her mom-voice had her wanting to claw up trees. She sounded just like her mother. But, hey, it got results. 

“…no.” 

“Good boy. Now, go apologize to your sister, and then help your father set the table.”

The death glare she received could have frozen hell, but Natasha Hale was made of sturdier stuff. And she couldn’t help but smile when her baby boy’s voice made it to her ears with those magic words, mumbled and growled, and followed by a “even though you were a real meanie.”

Yeah, those teenage years were going to be a bitch.


End file.
